


An Ancient Curse

by Cassidy_MacLeod



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Dom!Harry, Dumbledore is mental, M/M, Magical Accidents, Sex Magic, Sub!Blaise, Sub!Draco, dom!draco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-06-20 21:27:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15542505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassidy_MacLeod/pseuds/Cassidy_MacLeod
Summary: Thanks to a terrible cold Harry accidentally enslaves Draco Malfoy. Yes, I know.Along the way, circumstances change for the two of them. Can they come to terms with these changes, or will everything fall apart?





	1. The Accident

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sappho_malfoy (JupiterMelichios)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JupiterMelichios/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Restricted Work] by [sappho_malfoy (JupiterMelichios)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JupiterMelichios/pseuds/sappho_malfoy). Log in to view. 



> I have full permission from the original author to use as much, or as little, of the original text as I want. Comments are life. Tags will be updated/changed as I go.

“Jus’ fug ob Malfoy,” Potter cried in exasperation.

“Fug ob?” I asked. “How exactly does one fug ob? Dear me, you always did talk rubbish Potter, but this is on a whole new level!”

“Whad is your problem?!” Potter exclaimed. “I hab a cold. Now Fug. Ob.”

“Now really Potter, is that any way to talk to your betters?”

I’m not really sure who threw the first curse. I, of course, blamed it on Potter. Potter, of course, maintains it was me. I must admit (to you dear reader but never to him) that he probably has the right of it. All that rather pales to insignificance, however, when compared with what happened next.

I’d hit Potter with a particularly good bat bogey hex, made oh so much worse by the fact that he had a terrible cold. He’d got me with a Jelly legs. I got him with tarrantallegra. Then Potter attempted to cast a rather childish jinx that would have me walking around all day with my nose on upside-down. And that’s when my life went to the dogs.

I felt strange. Not unpleasant, just strange. “Oh dear Potter, that didn’t quite work, did it? Probably something to do with your appalling speech impediment.”

“Oh jus go away Malfoy,” Potter said tiredly.

“Like fuck I will,” I sneered at him. “Since when do I take orders from you?”

I was feeling more than odd now. I had an overwhelming feeling of wrongness and guilt, as though I’d done something terrible. My heart was palpitating faster and faster and I couldn’t breathe properly. My chest felt tight and my heart was beating so fast it felt as though it might break through my chest. My jaw hurt because I was clenching my teeth, but somehow I couldn’t seem to relax. My head was aching and I was feeling dizzy.

The last thing I remembered before I passed out was Potter rushing to catch me as I fell.

 

***

 

When I came too I was in the hospital wing with Snape staring intently at me. Merlin knows, but that’s a horrific sight to wake up too.

“How are you feeling Draco,” he asked me. He actually managed to sound concerned. I am constantly amazed by what a spectacular liar he is.

“What happened?” I asked him.

“That’s exactly what I want to ask you,” was Snape’s only response. “Mr. Potter informed me you suddenly seemed to be having a panic attack and then you passed out. He caught you and brought you here. What we don’t know is what exactly caused said collapse. Madam Pomfrey has examined you and said that as far as she could tell you are perfectly healthy but there is some sort of spell at work on you and she doesn’t know what it is. I told her I would investigate.”

“I don’t know anything about a spell sir,” I told him earnestly.

“But what made you faint Draco,” he asked, sounding exasperated.

“Disobeying Potter,” I said straight away. That was a shock, let me tell you. I had no idea I knew that until I said it.

Snape looked even more shell-shocked than me. “What the hell are you playing at Draco?” he demanded. “Do you think that is funny?!”

If he thought that was a joke he has even less sense of humor than I thought. “I was not joking sir,” I explained patiently. “I don’t know why, but I know that disobeying Potter is what caused the panic attack and the subsequent faint.”

Snape frowned at me. “What did Potter cast on you exactly?”

“Only a Jellylegs jinx. Oh, and he tried to cast something I couldn't think of a name for but it didn’t work because of his stupid cold.”

Snape sounded panicked when he next spoke. “Draco, can you remember what he said. His exact words?”

“Umm, it sounded like Pactus mancipum,” I told him.

I’ve never seen Snape look so shocked. He nearly keeled over. Mind you, so did I when he explained the significance of what I’d just said.

“Draco, Pactus mancipum is the incantation for the so-called daughter in law curse.”

Well fuck.

 

*****

 

Exactly one hour later I was sitting in the headmaster’s office with Snape, Potter, and Dumbledore. The bastard kept twinkling at me. Apparently, he thought his golden boy accidentally enslaving me was fucking funny!

Snape looked a bit traumatized by the whole thing, to be honest. Potter just looked confused. He was the first to speak. “Will someone please explain what’s going on here. I seem to have cursed Malfoy but no one will tell me how, or what I’ve cursed him with!”

“You cursed him, Mr. Potter, by attempting to use a rather childish jinx,” Snape sneered. “Thanks to your speech impediment, which I note seems to have mysteriously disappeared since you enslaved my student, you instead cast an ancient and very powerful piece of dark magic.”

“What!” Potter nearly it the roof. It would have been amusing to see his horror if I wasn’t so intimately involved.

“The spell you cast Harry was invented many hundreds of years ago by pure-blood wizards to be used against uncooperative daughters in law,” the headmaster explained. “At that time nearly all marriages among pure-bloods were arranged for political convenience, so naturally it was not uncommon for the potential daughter in law to resist the match. This spell was the usual way of remedying the problem. In fact, in many households it became the norm to cast it on the bride before the wedding whether she was uncooperative or not, simply to ensure things ran smoothly. I am happy to say it has been outlawed since the 1700s, and there has only been one known usage of it since, and that was nearly 200 years ago. Unfortunately, there is no way of destroying a spell once it has been created. You, unfortunately, and through no real fault of your own, other than the fact that you were attempting to jinx Mr. Malfoy, have cast it on him.”

“So the spell thinks he’s my daughter in law?” Potter asked incredulously. God, he’s dim.

“No Potter,” I told him, “it thinks I’m your wife.”

Potter looked even more gobsmacked. I suppose at this point you’re wondering how I resisted smacking him myself. The main answer I think is that I was in shock. I also had had time to think about it and decided if disobeying an order given by Potter landed me in the hospital wing, actually physically harming him would probably get me killed. I settled for indulging in a nice relaxing fantasy involving Potter, boiling tar and a pit of poisonous snakes.

Dumbledore was now explaining to Potter all about... well basically he was explaining all about the fact that they basically knew nothing about the spell. Which of course was terribly helpful. Potter broke into his ramblings with yet another inane question.

“Why does Snape keep referring to it as slavery?”

“Because I’m afraid to modern eyes that’s more or less what it is. At the time the spell was created it was not seen as such. But Mr. Malfoy now finds himself in the same position as a woman in the 1400s. He has the same rights. That is to say, he has basically no rights. Obviously, the law does not recognize that he is a slave. He still has the same legal protection he did yesterday, but the spell will force him to behave in a certain way. Ways which were considered appropriate for a woman in the 15th century. For example, he will not be able to disobey any command you give him until the spell wears off.”

“It will wear off then?” Potter asked. He sounded so eager. I hate to admit it but for once we were in total agreement.

“It will,” Dumbledore confirmed. “I’m afraid I don’t know how long that will take. However, I’m sure Miss Granger will soon be able to answer many of your questions. No doubt she will head to the library the minute you inform her.”

Snape sneered. “I’m sure he can’t wait to tell his little friends he now owns a slave!”

That did it. I stood, fuming. “Stop saying that word! I am not a fucking slave. Is that the most helpful thing you can do? Stand around mocking me? You should be having Potter arrested! Use of this spell is illegal, you said so. So why is Potter just sitting there?!”

“Because Mr. Malfoy,” Dumbledore said mildly, “His use of the spell was not deliberate. It was a mistake. Unfortunately, you must suffer because of that mistake. Harry will, of course, be getting a detention for attempting to jinx you in the first place. I understand you got him with two curses, however, I think your current situation should be regarded as punishment enough, don’t you?”

My father is right. This place has really gone to the dogs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some background on the curse courtesy of our little bookworm, and a little bit of the curse influencing Malfoy

My mother is fond of saying that everything looks better in the morning. Her advice for dealing with any problem is ‘get a good night’s sleep’. I personally think this is bollocks, but I couldn’t think what else to do, other than mope, so I went to bed.

I had by now progressed from fantasies about killing Potter, to actual plotting. It was the only way I could see of getting out of this damned spell. But try as I might I couldn’t think of a way of killing him that wouldn’t lead Dumbledore straight to me. That’s the worst thing about having an incredibly ancient and powerful sorcerer as headmaster. It’s fucking difficult to lie to them.

“Fucking Potter!” I yelled. “I hate Harry fucking Potter!” Which of course was when the panic attack started.

At least I kept my wits about me. It was horrible, but it could have been worse. I had at least enough presence of mind to keep my breathing as deep and even as possible.

“I won’t hurt him,” I growled at the spell. “I’ll be a good fucking slave.” Which of course, me being a Slytherin, caused my mind to teem with ideas. And I immediately calmed down.

I had enough common sense, even in the middle of a panic attack, to connect the two. The more I imagined being Potter’s slave, the better I felt until at last, I was relaxed again. Most of me at any rate.

To my horror, my cock had decided to take an interest in proceedings. That is so fucking wrong. A) I am a sadist. Submission has never had any appeal for me. I like dominating my lovers. Hurting them. Don’t I? B) This is Potter I’m talking about. You know, short, scrawny, scruffy, Gryffindorian scar-face. All together now – ewwwwwwww.

Why is my life so fucking complicated?

 

***

 

I would like to make it clear, right at the start, that I didn’t ask for Granger’s help. I had gone to the library to do some research but I discovered that every book which might be remotely useful was not on the shelves. I soon discovered why.

Rounding a corner I found Granger, sitting at a table which was groaning under the weight of books, her nose in a copy of ‘Arranged marriages in Wizarding history’. The libraries’ only copy. She looked up as I approached her.

“Malfoy,” she said politely. “I was hoping I’d find you here. I’ve been researching the spell you’re under. It’s really quite fascinating. Won’t you join me?”

As she had every useful book in the library, I really had no choice. I sat down opposite her.

“Would you like to know what I’ve found out so far?” she asked. She was obviously desperate to tell me so I nodded. It saved me time after all.

She put down the book she had been holding and picked up a piece of parchment on which she had been making notes.

“Okay, the first thing you should know is that this is only stage one. It gets worse from here on in. But it’s only temporary.”

“How temporary. And how much worse?”

“Well the books are a bit vague on that but I’m guessing a week to ten days build up, then a week when the spell is at its most powerful, then another week to ten days while it weakens again, and then I think you should be back to normal.” She smiled brightly. A little too brightly.

“Granger,” I said, “how much worse.”

She shuffled her feet. “You won’t be able to disobey Harry at all or even think about disobeying him. The spell will monitor your thoughts, not just your behavior. And you won’t even be able to eat or drink without his permission.”

Okay. I can see why she didn’t want to tell me that. I’m rather wishing I hadn’t asked myself.

“That’s barbaric! So now not only do I have to be enslaved, I have to tell the world about it too?!”

“I’m sure the teachers will think of something. If I were them, I would arrange for you and Harry to both have something mysterious and very catching and then whisk you away out of sight for a week. Maybe to the Room of Requirement.”

That surprised me. Granger had obviously put some thought into my position. She’d thought about the fact that I wouldn’t want the world to know and she’d made plans to help me. That was quite a surprise I must say.

Granger gave me a little smile. “That was the good news,” she told me. “It gets worse.” She colored and shuffled her papers a bit, obviously embarrassed. “The spell will increase your libido, and Harry’s. It’s the only way it affects him, as the caster.”

That really brought me up short. I’d be the first to admit that Blaise was quite correct when he described me as a strangely happy sex maniac. If my libido gets any more active, I’ll implode!

“Why,” I asked her, trying very hard to keep calm, “would the twisted fucker who created this spell decide that was necessary?”

“To ensure the marriage was consummated. Wizarding marriage laws are very similar to muggle ones, and a marriage can be annulled on the grounds of non-consummation. The last thing the inventor of the spell wanted was to go to all this trouble, only to have it all spoiled because the marriage had legally never happened. He was trying to close every loophole the woman might have for getting out of the marriage after the wedding was over.”

I must admit, at this point, I began banging my head against the table in sheer frustration. Not very dignified and it gave me a headache, but it made me feel better. A little bit. Actually, it didn’t but it helped to get rid of all the images my brain had started supplying when Granger mentioned that Potter’s libido would go through the roof as well.

“This would be so much easier if I were a Gryffindor,” I sighed. Granger looked up for the book she was reading.

“What? Why?” she demanded. “And don’t say anything stupid like, ‘slavery is a Gryffindor’s proper place’ or I’ll stop helping you!”

“I wasn’t going to say anything of the sort,” I informed her haughtily. “It’s just that you Gryffindors don’t know the first thing about submission. It would be even easier if I were a Hufflepuff, who regard kinky as nothing more than a reasonable score in Scrabble, but that thought is just too horrible to contemplate.”

She stared at me in amazement. “Don’t tell me you’re into submission?” she asked incredulously. I was quite surprised. I didn’t know Griffindors even knew such things existed. But then I reminded myself, this is Granger. She knows everything.

“I am. Very much so in fact. But not when I’m the submissive.”

She just stared at me. Dear Merlin, if this really is the brightest witch of our generation, my generation is screwed. “I’m a sadist Granger. A dominant. Ring any bells? But the point I’m trying to make is this. What are the first things that come into your head when you hear the word slave?” I’ll admit I had told Snape earlier that we were never to use that word in association with my ‘condition’, but I was making a point. Point-making first, protecting myself from mental scarring second.

Granger wrinkled her forehead as she thought. “House elves,” she said at last. “The Roman empire. Manumission. The abolition of the slave trade.”

“Good. Very Gryffindorian answers. None of those, however, are the first things that come into my head. To any self-respecting Slytherin over the age of 12, slavery has inherently sexual connotations.”

“Oh,” she said. And then “Oh!” and blushed bright red.

“Quite,” I said. “and now Potter has taken it upon himself to turn me into his own personal fucking submissive, not to mention sending my already admittedly overactive libido into overdrive, my brain is happily churning out fantasies at a rate of one a minute, and that’s only when nobody’s talking about my fucking condition. As soon as anyone says the words slave or submission, my fucking brain nearly overheats. I don’t want to be Potter’s bitch!” Which of course was when the panic attack started.

It took longer than usual to get myself under control, probably because I was so panicked when the attack started. As usual, deep breathing and some unpleasantly enjoyable images of life as Potter’s bitch calmed me down. Granger was looking pretty shell-shocked.

“I’m okay now,” I told her, hoping she wouldn’t try to hug me. She had that look in her eye. A) I don’t ever want Granger touching me unless she’s saving my life and b) while I knew with absolute certainty that there wouldn’t be anything remotely sexual about Hermione Granger hugging me, I wasn’t sure the spell did. It seemed to be pretty vindictive. It must have known I hadn’t meant what I said. I do want to be Potter’s slave. I don’t want to want it, but I do. It’s practically all I think about. The only modicum of respect I have left for myself is based on the fact that at least those little fantasies are all sexual. I don’t want to look after Potter, or care for him, or make him happy. I would quite like him to bend me over a desk and roger me senseless though.

“What happened?” Hermione asked. No, not Hermione. Granger. Mudblood Granger. Just because she’s helping you doesn’t make her a friend.

“Panic attack,” I told her gruffly. “I spell doesn’t like me saying bad things about it, Harry or the fact that I’ve been enslaved against my will to the person I hate most in this world after Celestina Warbeck.”

“What have you got against Celestina Warbeck?” Granger asked.

“It’s a long story,” I said, dismissing the question. There no way I’m going to tell Granger about Celestina Warbeck.

She nodded and put down the book she was holding. “I think I’ve found everything the library has to offer on the subject,” she said. “Now we just need to establish how far the spell has progressed.”

“Don’t you know that from the date of when it was cast?” I asked, a little indignantly. I did not want to discuss this with Granger.

“No,” she explained. “Because it’s been more than two hundred years since it was last cast and no one’s left exact day by day lists of symptoms.”

I like that word. Symptoms. It sounds medical. I have an illness, so none of this is my fault. They’re not fantasies, they’re symptoms. Especially the one with the paddle and the ball gag. That’s definitely a symptom.

“What do you need to know?” I asked her.

“Can you disobey Harry at all? Do you want to disobey Harry at all? Are you beginning to feel depressed? As opposed to angry, resentful, upset, any of the emotions one would normally feel if one had just been made a slave. Can you think sexual thoughts about anyone other than Harry?”

“Sexual thoughts Granger? And to answer your questions, no, yes, no more than I would expect and I don’t know. The fucking spell has made it damn near impossible for me to think about anything other than Potter.”

“Okay then, who do you think is the sexiest person in Hogwarts and why. Other than Harry obviously.”

I didn’t point out that no one in their right minds would say Harry. I seem to be able to get away with thinking these things, so long as I don’t mean them too strongly. But saying them out loud is a definite no-go area.

“Blaise Zabini,” I said straight away. “He has the most perfect arse imaginable and that look he gets when…” and that’s when I started hyperventilating.

Granger watched me carefully and made little notes on a piece of parchment. When I calmed down enough to answer she said, “How difficult is it to calm yourself down after a panic attack?”

“Not too bad. It usually only takes a minute or two.” Then something in her tone of voice struck me. “Will it get harder?”

“Yes,” she said, unsympathetically. “Much harder. The idea seems to be that the longer you’ve been under the spell, the easier it should be for you to behave yourself, so the greater the punishment is you do misbehave. The idea is to make obeying Harry and wanting Harry a habit. Part of your everyday life.”

I slumped. “I hate this fucking spell. I hate my life. I hate Po…” but I knew better than to finish that sentence. “Fucking hell, it’s doing it already. I’m getting into the habit of obeying it.”

“Better that than the alternative,” Granger commented, trying not to look as though she knew something awful about my life.

“When you said it gets harder, just what did you mean?” I asked. Living my life is a bit like watching a train crash. It’s horrible but somehow you can’t stop. I was pretty sure I was going to regret asking that though, from the look of pity on Hermione’s face.

“By the time you reach ‘the week’,” she explained, “you won’t be able to stop the panic attacks yourself. To get them to stop,” she coughed slightly and continued, obviously quoting, “the betrothed’s (that’s you) intended must mete out what punishment he considers fitting. This is right and as it should be.”

I knew I must have gone white but I didn’t care. “That’s fucking barbaric,” I screamed, my voice cracking just a little. I couldn’t help myself. I was thinking about the punishments I had meted out in my time. The image of Potter standing over me holding a whip wouldn’t go away. Much to my mortification, my cock didn’t seem to mind at all.

Granger seemed to read my mind. “As you pointed out earlier, Malfoy, Gryffindors don’t think of slavery in that way. And Harry is a true Gryffindor. He really is sorry about what happened. He’ll do his best to make things bearable. Anything you need you can ask him. He won't think any the worse of you for it, and he certainly won't tell the world.”

I bit back a retort that would surely have got me severely punished by the spell and responded with a simple thank you.

“This doesn’t have to be nearly as bad as you’re imagining you know. The spell isn’t intended to be sexual. I mean,” she said blushing again, “there are sexual elements to the spell, like the increased libido, which are to try and ensure the marriage was consummated, but the slavery side of it was never intended to be sexual. Remember the spell was designed to be used on women, and the things you can’t do, that was just a woman’s place at the time when the spell was created. No one then would have seen it as slavery. You can just sit it out until it’s over. There doesn’t have to be anything sexual at all.”

She really didn’t get it. It might not have been designed as sex magic, but used in a modern setting, against a kinky Slytherin, it most definitely was. Intentions didn’t come into it. Hell, it was already sexual. The way my body had responded to the idea of Potter punishing me had proved that.


	3. Living Day To Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about how long the wait has been.
> 
> I've been having some issues with my laptop and wi-fi but all is sorted now.
> 
> All mistakes are mine as I went through and checked.

As Granger had referred to my condition at the time as ‘stage one’, I divided my time under the spell into neat little sections. Obviously, I didn’t yet know what the symptoms of those sections would be, but I’d find out when I got to them.

I’d decided ‘the week’ as Granger called it, was stage five. I entered stage two in, of all places, the potions lab. As usual, I was paired with Blaise. We have an arrangement. He does all the actual work, I correct his mistakes, thus ensuring him a good grade.

The potion we were making was quite easy, even Blaise could do it with the minimum supervision, so I had some time on my hands. I spent it alternately closely watching and fantasizing about my master.

Have you spotted my problem? It took me nearly half the lesson to notice it, and by then it was too late. The idea was firmly cemented in my mind, and there was no way it was going away. I seriously considered killing myself then and there. Or maybe I could kill Potter. That would be much better all around. Except of course that simply thinking about harming Potter triggered yet another panic attack.

I was confirmed in my suspicions that I had entered stage two by the fact that it took considerably longer than it had been doing to calm myself down. The images that eventually calmed me down were not ones I ever wanted to think about in front of Snape. Or any teacher. But especially not Snape.

When I had calmed down, and the class had stopped staring at me, I sent a little note to Granger. It read,

I have just entered stage two. Is there any way of going back in time and killing the fucker before he invented this bloody spell?

To which I got the totally unhelpful reply,

You could, but bear in mind, given the extent to which this spell was used by pure-bloods, you might well cease to exist.

Trust Granger to spoil my fun.

 

***

 

I have to admit, I’ve underestimated Blaise. I really didn’t think he’d notice anything. I thought I was hiding it so well. Needless to say, I was a little surprised therefore when, on the fifth day of my being under the spell, he sat me down and insisted we have a little chat.

I considered just running away, but I actually needed to talk to him, so I resigned myself to the fact that I’d have to reveal all.

“You remember Potter had that appalling cold at the start of term,” I began, and nearly punched Blaise when he replied, “No Draco. No, I don’t because unlike you, I have more interesting things to think about than Harry Potter!”

I harrumphed, but what could I say. It was unfortunately true. I ate breathed and dreamed potter.

“Well, he did. To cut a long story short, there was a fight and because of his stupid cold, instead of casting … he cast the daughter in law curse.”

Blaise’s eyes went wide. Like all purebloods, he had heard of the spell, even if he didn’t know many details.

“You don’t have to marry him do you?” he asked, incredulity lacing his every syllable.

I almost nearly smiled at that. Trust Blaise to think of the worst case scenario.

“No, I don’t have to marry him. The spell only last three or four weeks. Today is day five. But for those three weeks… well, I’m basically enslaved.”

Blaise reacted exactly as I knew he would. He gave me a broad lascivious grin and said, “Details Draco, I want ALL the details.”

It didn’t take long to tell him everything I knew. When I had finished he whistled softly. “And Granger thinks this doesn’t have to be sexual?” he asked in obvious amusement. “I realize it doesn’t help at all, but I’d happily trade places.”

“With me or my master?” I asked. I’d explained about the master thing. It’s slipping out more and more recently. Blaise knew better than to comment.

“Oh with either of you,” was the cheerful reply. “I certainly wouldn’t object to being Potter’s bitch. I mean have you seen him?” Stupid question. Of course, I have! “But the idea of having you at my mercy…”

Apparently, the fucking spell has made me submissive point blank. Because my body reacted to that suggestion in a way the spell didn’t like at all.

It’s definitely getting harder to calm myself down. It’s only a matter of days now until I’m going to have to start begging Potter to punish me. God that image didn’t help my condition one bit.

“Are you okay?” Blaise asked obviously concerned. He at least had enough intelligence not to touch me, for which I am eternally grateful.

I assured him that I was fine. I was getting used to the panic attacks by now. They were still fucking horrible, but I was coming to expect them as a part of everyday life.

“Do you think he’ll do it?” Blaise asked.

“Who? Do what Blaise?”

“Do you think Potter will make you his bitch?”

“Frankly Blaise I don’t intend to give him an option. Thanks to him I’m even hornier than usual and all my usual ways of satisfying myself are no longer available to me. If Potter refuses to oblige me I may just have to throw myself off a cliff.”

“That seems a little extreme?”

“As if you could go three weeks without a fuck!” I exclaimed. He knew it was true. We were notorious in Slytherin for our exploits, and not without reason. I slumped as a terrible thought hit me. “Potter’s a Gryffindor!”

“Yes Draco, congratulations. It’s only taken you six years to notice that!”

I hit him. “I mean he’s probably vanilla to the core. I never yet heard of anyone from that house having an even vaguely interesting sex life.”

“Yes, Draco. I know. That’s why I doubted his ability to… satisfy you, shall we say. Although I can’t imagine you getting any satisfaction at all if the spell forbids you to hurt people!”

“Oh, it’s worse than that Blaise. I’m being turned into a fucking submissive. I’ll be quite happy not being able to hurt anyone because Potter’s taken it upon himself to fuck with my mind to the extent that I am now a fucking masochist. The fucking indignity of it!”

“Oy!” Blaise exclaimed, feigning hurt. “You always said you have the greatest respect for masochists!”

“I do. I mean Potter fucking up my sexuality and almost definitely being unable to do anything about it!”

Blaise nodded sympathetically. “If it really is as bad as all that let me know and I’ll have words with him,” he offered. “Alternatively stick it out, celibacy and all, for three weeks and I’ll make it up to you afterwards.” He grinned at me. “I’ll even let you indulge your little knifeplay fetish!”

I nearly cried when that suggestion, which only days ago would have made me instantly hard, had no effect on me whatsoever. If Potter’s ruined me as a sadist I will hunt him down. I felt like a child who’d just had their best toy taken away from him.

I should probably explain mine and Blaise’s relationship. Blaise has been my best friend since the first day at Hogwarts. We are not a couple but we are lovers. Have been on and off since we were 14. I’m gay, although not terribly fussy. I’ve had a few women over the years, although not for a couple of years. Blaise is bi, with a definite preference for men. We used one another for experimentation. We learnt together. There’s certainly no exclusivity to our relationship, but so far, whoever we’ve been with, we always come back to each other. It’s sort of difficult I know to explain how I can love Blaise as a friend, and think he’s the sexiest person I know, but not be ‘in love’ with him. But I’m not.

We also discovered at about the same time that he’s a masochist and I’m a sadist. At least I hope I’m still a sadist once Potter’s fucking spell wears off. He’s not vanilla by any means, but neither is he what you might call extreme. I’m not really hardcore, but I’m certainly more extreme than he is. He’s only once let me use knives on him. It was his birthday present to me last year. Best present I ever had. I pride myself that he did at least enjoy himself, but it’s really not his thing. He’s been using it to tease and bribe me into doing stuff for him ever since.

 

***

 

I’ve been dreaming about Potters. That’s how bad it’s got. Not content with taking over all waking aspects of my life, he’s decided to in invade the one bit of privacy I had left. My dreams.

Alright, I’ll admit I knew it was inevitable. I can’t fantasize about anyone else, and I’ve always had a lot of sex dreams, so logically it was bound to happen. But that doesn’t make it any less distasteful to me. I admit I am no longer in denial. I can admit that I’m attracted to him. But I’m attracted to him because of the spell. Objectively speaking he’s okay. I know for a fact that Blaise thinks he’s hot. I wouldn’t have minded if a crush had developed all on its own. But these feelings were forced on me against my will. And now he’s invaded my dreams.

I have to admit, these weren’t my usual sex dreams. In fact, some of them were downright weird. One I’m not sure I should class as a sex dream, except that I found it inexplicably arousing, involved Potter pinning me to the floor while he ate strawberries. I think there was some cream as well. And I really wanted a strawberry (and Potter knew this and was making it very obvious how good they were) but I couldn’t take one because I couldn’t eat without Potter’s permission. And weirdly I was getting off on this in my dream (although Potter straddling me and moaning as he devoured strawberries and got cream all down his chin may also have been a factor).

There have been plenty of good ones (lots of them involving desks I’ve noticed, and more than a little exhibitionism). Most of them are personal experience, but with the roles reversed, but one or two have been downright hardcore. The one where Potter fucked me without preparation against a wall while he held a knife to my throat was disturbingly hot and in the end, I just put it down to too much late night cheese. I’m kinky, but I’m not that kinky. Although I was still thinking about that dream when I came in the shower that morning and it was a pretty good orgasm, so maybe I’m discovering hidden depths I never knew I had.

Some of them I’m definitely going to try out if I get the chance. I seem to have developed a bit of a thing about restraints since Potter made me his bitch. Obviously, I’ve used them on my lovers many times, handcuffs, silken scarves and even ropes and chains now and then, but it’s not a big kink of mine. I rather like knowing that the person I’m with is there by choice if you see what I mean, and restraints spoil that a bit. But now pretty much every fantasy and dream of mine contains restraints. Not silk scarves of course. Ropes, chains, thick leather cuffs. I wonder if I’ll ever persuade Potter to tie me up?

Probably not, he’s definitely too goody-goody for words. But Blaise did promise to make it up to me after it’s all over, so maybe he’ll oblige. I seem to remember he has some pretty serious looking cuffs in his bottom drawer. I do miss Blaise.


	4. Is Potter Even Straight???

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little sexual frustration on Draco's part...
> 
> Well, a fair bit actually

The depression is definitely starting to get out of hand. I feel as though life has no purpose anymore. I wouldn’t even have got up this morning if Blaise hadn’t made me. I haven’t eaten anything for just over twenty-four hours. I think that must have been what gave Granger the clue that something was up.

She cornered me on my way to ancient runes and demanded to know what was wrong. I considered lying to her, but so far she’d proved very helpful, so I explained how I was feeling.

“I’m afraid this is stage four,” she told me, her eyes brimming with sympathy. “You’ve obviously gone right through stage three without even noticing. I’m afraid I’ll have to tell Harry. You can’t deal with this on your own anymore. Basically, you need to serve him. To be what the spell considers a good wife. You can’t just avoid him anymore or the depression will get worse.”

I didn’t tell her that I couldn’t care less. Two days ago I would have been outraged at the idea of her talking to Potter about me, but now... it just didn’t seem to matter. Nothing mattered.

She left me where I was, with orders that I was not to move and headed off, presumably to find Potter. I did as I was told. It’s not like it mattered where I was. I might as well be here as in Ancient Runes. I wouldn’t do any work anyway.

Eventually, she returned, trailing a very embarrassed looking Potter. Something stirred inside me at the sight of him, but it was so weak that I could not identify it.

“I’ll just leave you two alone,” Granger said, shooting pointed looks at Harry, as she set off to where it is Grangers go when she was not mothering me.

Harry gasped when he saw me. “Bloody hell Malfoy, when did you last eat?” he exclaimed.

When I shrugged, his face took on a hard look and he ordered me tersely, “Answer me when I ask you a question dammit!”

“Breakfast yesterday,” I muttered, and was amazed to discover I felt slightly better.

Potter looked exasperated. “What did you have then?”

“Half a peach,” I replied. I’ve always loved peaches but this one was tasteless and dry, or seemed so to me, as though I was eating nothing but dust and ashes.

Frowning at me he yelled “Dobby!” and an instant later a rather chubby looking little house elf popped into existence at Harry’s elbow.

“Dobby you used to work for the Malfoys didn’t you?” Potter asked the creature, who nodded in agreement. “Well then I want you to fetch a selection of Draco’s favorite foods up here to us please,” Harry ordered. It was all I could do not to run down to the kitchens myself. Harry had given an order, and it felt weird, unnatural, not to be the one to obey it.

Only moments later the creature reappeared, bearing a large tray laden with food. Mostly puddings. I’ve always had a bit of a sweet tooth.

“Eat,” Harry ordered. “Eat until you’re full. That’s an order.”

It felt wonderful to obey. It’s such an uncomplicated feeling, just doing as you’re told. Switching off. I didn’t admit it at the time, but it also felt wonderful to eat again.

I gorged myself of pastries, my maser watching me avidly. I couldn’t help noticing the way he stared and licked his lips when I got some whipped cream smeared on my chin. I couldn’t help noticing because I’d done it on purpose to see how he reacted. Yes, I was really feeling myself again. It was quite incredible what an effect simply obeying him had on me. I felt like a new man.

“How are you feeling,” he asked, once I’d eaten my fill.

“Better,” I told him. “Much better ma... Potter.” Merlin, that had been a near miss. I really wasn’t ready to let Potter know that I thought of him in that way. I didn’t think I would ever be.

He blushed. “Um, Hermione said that from now on you’d need to be given some orders by me every day, otherwise the depression will just come back. I was thinking we should maybe meet up, you know, once or twice a day. I mean I can’t exactly go ordering you around in front of the whole castle.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m not sure your dad would be too happy about me treating you like a slave.”

That was all it took. That one word, from his lips, and I was hard as a rock. How fucking humiliating. If my master noticed, he did a good job of pretending not too.

We talked a little and found times later that day and early the next which suited us both, then we went out separate ways.

 

***

 

We met up twice a day from then on. It took a little trial and error (and much embarrassment on Potter’s part) before we established what constituted an order. For it to satisfy the spell, it had to be something my master actually wanted me to do. Pointless orders, like go over there, touch your toes, stand up, sit down, had no effect on the spell whatsoever. What I didn’t mention was the effect they had on me. Doing pointless things, for no reason other than that I had to obey, felt far more like Potter exercising his control over me than my doing anything helpful. They made me feel more like a slave, and Circe save me, I loved that. It never failed to affect me, especially certain parts of my anatomy.

I felt I did pretty well in resisting temptation, especially given that masturbating just didn’t satisfy me. It never had. I’ll admit though, I did drop a few hints, some of them less than subtle, about what useful things slaves could be, especially if the master is a single teenage boy. He didn’t even bat an eyelid. I really don’t think he noticed.

Either that or he was nobly resisting temptation. I doubted it though. He really seemed to find the whole idea of owning a slave totally repugnant. I think it was probably a big turn of for him. Yet more proof that he’s unbalanced. I tackled him about it on the morning of the third day of our little meetings.

“Potter, what is your problem?” I demanded of him. “You own me. You have a slave at your beck and call but you keep acting as though the whole idea is repugnant to you.”

I’ll admit I sort of knew what was coming, but to be honest, I’d never quite believed that Gryffindors could really be as well, Gryffindorish as we Slytherins all suspected. I’d sort of thought it as all a front.

“It is repugnant to me!” he exclaimed. “Of course it is. It’s horrific that I own you. That you’re my slave. It’s horrendous.”

I had too shut my eyes and take deep breaths. I know it was in the wrong context and the wrong tone of voice, but even so, Potter saying those words “I own you. You’re my slave” were definitely going to be featuring prominently in my fantasies for a while.

When I was calmed down I told him, “You’re bonkers. Stark raving bonkers. Merlin, what I wouldn’t have given to be in your position before this stupid spell decided to fuck with my sexuality! Even if I had used this spell on Snape I still would have got a kick out of owning someone. And if it was someone as gorgeous as me...”

Potter just stared at me. “You’re sick,” he told me at last. “Of course I don’t get a kick out of owning a slave!”

I really need to get a grip on the way I react to that word. Several deep breaths later something awful occurred to me. Something so dreadful it hadn’t even entered my head until that point. It made me slightly nauseous just thinking about it.

“You’re not... straight, are you?” I asked in horror.

Potter looked shocked. “What the hell’s that got to do with anything?” he demanded.

“Everything of course.” When he continued to look blank I realized he really hadn’t got it. Morgana’s tits, he may be the dimmest person I’ve ever met.

“Why is it,” I asked the world in general, “That all Gryffindors are incapable of seeing that this is basically a sex spell? I mean for fuck's sake, it’s turned me into a bloody masochist. Why would it do that if it wasn’t a sex spell?”

Something even more terrible hit me then. “You really mean to tell me that you’ve probably ruined knifeplay for me, and you’re straight? What kind of sick sadist are you Potter? You take away the thing I enjoy most in the world and replace it with what?! Fuck all that’s what!”

My master was just staring at me now, his mouth hung open in shock. Eventually, he composed himself enough to speak. “I don’t know where to start,” he said. “Okay, 1. You think I deliberately made you into to some kind of sex slave? I didn’t even deliberately cast the spell on you. 2. You really think I’m the kind of person who wanted a sex slave? 3. Knife play?!!! 4.” His face went white. “Oh my god. 4. That must mean you were in a relationship and I’ve probably screwed it up completely. I’m so sorry!”

I don’t know what was wrong with me, but instead of letting him suffer I immediately reassured him.

“Not a relationship in the sense you mean,” I assured him. “I had a... friend with benefits, shall we say. He’ll wait for me, he always does. And actually, assuming my sexuality goes back to normal after the spell wears off, my sex life might actually improve. He promised me knifeplay, which is a rare treat. And one of my favorite things, when I’m not under stupid fucking sex slave enchantments.”

Potter blanched. “Again with the knives. How can you want to use a knife on your lover? On someone you care about?”

“Because it’s hot as hell,” I told him. I didn’t feel like getting into a long argument about the relative merits of S&M vs Vanilla. “I suppose that reaction means there’s no chance of persuading you to use a knife on me then?” I asked. Subtly hadn’t worked. Time to try the straightforward approach.

Potter stared at me. “You’re into knife play?” he asked incredulously. Then he seemed to think about his sentence and added, “As the victim?”

“Not until recently no,” I said patiently, “because, as I have explained, until you cast this spell on me I was a dyed in the wool sadist. Now, however, the idea has, a certain appeal.” Make that a lot of appeal.

There was a long pause before Potter finally realized just what I was asking him.

“Oh my god, Malfoy did you just proposition me?” he asked. I just shrugged. “That’s why you wanted to know if I were straight? You’re, my god I can’t believe I’m saying this, you’re getting off on being my slave.”

This time I didn’t bother to try and control my reaction to that word. I think I actually may have whimpered a little. Potter looked as though he were in shock.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” I told him. “Are you straight?” I was dreading his answer.

When it came it wasn’t great, but it certainly wasn’t terrible. “I dunno, I’ve never really given it much thought.” He raked his eyes down my body, studying me in intense detail. My cock hardened even further under his intense scrutiny, but I made no effort to hide that fact from him. His eyes lingered longest on my crotch, then he looked back up at my face. “I think I could get used to having to have a male lover,” he said at last, but then dashed my happy thoughts by adding, “but not one who was enslaved to me. And I’m certainly no into the fucked up shit you’re into. I could never use a knife on someone!”

Fucking Gryffindors!

 

***

 

I began to suspect, however when we met up again that afternoon, that Potter was not as unaffected by the idea of having me at his beck and call as I supposed.

He certainly seemed to be exercising his control over me more thoroughly than he usually did. The commands came thick and fast, and there were quick of few of the pointless commands, which always go straight to my cock.

He also seemed to be slipping the word slave into the conversation more than was strictly necessary, especially given that until now he’d tried to avoid the word. In fact ownership, dominance, slavery, even the word master once, seemed to come up in conversation an awful to that evening. All the words in fact that made me hard.

Potter didn’t say anything about it, but I was sure from the intense way he watched me that he was doing it deliberately. I’m pretty sure I caught him staring at my arse once too.

Needless to say, by the time he allowed me to leave I was a wreck. I went straight back to my dorm and shut myself in my bed, with plenty of silencing charms.

As I have said, I never really understood the appeal of masturbation. And to be honest, with Blaise around I’ve never needed too. He sleeps in the bed next to me, and our housemates are usually quite surprised if we manage three days in our own beds. Potter, of course, has taken all that away from me. Eleven days now. That’s how long it’s been since I last shared my bed with anyone. Or got laid. Fucking Potter.

Now that Potter’s made the decision to destroy my sex life, I’ve become a dedicated wanker. I still don’t really understand the appeal but beggars can’t be choosers.

So I lay on my bed, robes pushed aside, flies open, while I stroked my cock. Slowly at first, but then faster and faster and I was so close, so close I could almost taste it and... And in that moment I knew. Knew with the same crystal clear clarity I had known that disobeying Potter was what had caused me to faint. I couldn’t come without Potter’s permission.

I would swear but there isn’t any word strong enough to express the hatred I felt for Potter and the bloody spell at that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 Chapters in one day! How exciting. Only one chapter of the original left...


	5. Entering Stage 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is the last chapter of the original work, I haven't been doing a lot of writing lately but had some spare time this morning and realized I hadn't even finished uploading what had already been written for me. So my apologies. I am hoping to get into a better place with my writing, hopefully life will allow it

I attempted to eat breakfast the next morning that I understood. I had entered stage five.  
I didn’t know what to do. It’s not often a Malfoy feels that way, but I was in shock. I walked over to the Gryffindor table, grabbed Granger and dragged her out into the entrance hall.  
“What wrong?” she asked.  
“It’s happened,” I said. Clever girl that she is she knew straight away what I meant.  
“I’ll get Harry to bring you out some breakfast,” she said. “And tell Professor Dumbledore.”  
I just nodded and sat down on the bottom step of the great staircase.  
Moments later Potter hurried out to me, carrying a plate laden with a very large full English breakfast. “Jesus Potter, you don’t think I can eat all that do you?”  
“No, but I haven’t had any breakfast yet either. I thought we could share. It also caused fewer questions if I only took one plate. I don’t think most people would make any connection between you storming off and me leaving, but I didn’t think you’d want to take the risk.”  
I just nodded at that, though I admit I was surprised by this little kindness on Potter’s part. He held out a knife and fork to me. “help yourself.”  
I skewered some sausage and bacon but paused when I raised the fork to my lips. “What,” Potter asked when he realized I was staring at him.  
“I know you want me to eat,” I sighed, “but you have to actually say it. I don’t know why, but you do.”  
My master went slightly green at that, but he just said, “you can eat Malfoy.”  
“Finally,” I said and began to help myself to sausages. I love sausages and the ones they serve at Hogwarts are particularly good.  
I was just finished when Hermione reappeared, followed by Professor Dumbledore.  
“Hello boys,” he said cheerfully. “Why don’t we go up to my office and discuss this. And Miss Granger as well of course. The house elves will clear up here.” As he spoke a house elf appeared behind us and began to tidy up our breakfast things.  
We followed him up through the castle to his office. Dumbledore sat behind his desk and surveyed us all seriously.  
“Miss Granger informs me the spell has become serious,” he said. “She suggested the two of you would be better if you were kept away from the main body of the student population.”  
“I think that would be a good idea,” I said when no one else spoke. “I would rather no one knew about the spell, but it will be impossible to hide it.”  
Dumbledore nodded. “Perhaps confinement in the hospital wing...” he began.  
“Might I make a suggestion?” Granger asked, then continued before Dumbledore had a chance to speak, “I would suggest the students are informed that Harry and Draco both have some contagious illness. That should stop any questions about their whereabouts. Then I would suggest they be installed in a suite of rooms of their own. I would think the best thing would be the room of requirement. They can choose the surroundings in which they’ll feel comfortable and the room will ensure they have everything they could need.”  
Dumbledore clapped his hands together and said, “An excellent suggestion. I suggest you boys go and pack up what you need, and inform those friends you consider trustworthy where you are. Shall we all meet in the room in one hour?”  
When we had all agreed we left to pack. I enlisted Blaise’s help in my packing, and explained how to find the room, and made him promise to come and visit me regularly.  
When I arrived on the seventh floor, I found Harry and Dumbledore waiting for me. At Dumbledore’s suggestion we paced together, both imagining somewhere we would like to live.  
When my master pushed open the door, I must say I was pleasantly surprised. There was a sort of common room with a large fireplace and some nice fluffy armchairs. There was a large table, suitable for doing homework or eating it. There were bookcases which contained a large selection of books. Draco recognized a few of his favorites and he guessed from Harry’s exclamation that some of his favorites up were as well. He embarrassed to notice there were a few gems from his extensive erotica selection on the top shelf of one bookcase.  
At the back of the room was a sort of gallery, reached by a short staircase, from where two doors presumably led onto too their bedrooms. Draco had asked for only one bedroom, but apparently, the room hadn’t listened.  
“Very nice,” Dumbledore said approvingly. “I’ll inform your teachers that they are to send you to work here. And of course, the house elves will bring you your meals.” He smiled at them. “I’ll leave you two to unpack them,” he said.  
When we were alone we explored our rooms together. I pleased to note the room had at least listened to me on the subject of the bathroom. Both bath and shower were big enough for two, and the door didn’t lock.  
The only disagreement came over the bedrooms. Apparently, the spell had tried to listen to both of us. While there were two bedrooms, one was large and luxurious, while the other was tiny, not much bigger than a cupboard.  
Potter’s face when white as a sheet when he saw it and he took a step back. “I can’t sleep in there Malfoy. I just can’t.”  
I sighed. I knew I ought to argue, but for some reason, the look of horror on Potter’s face awakened a twinge of pity.  
“Order me,” I sighed, not quite believing what I was doing.  
“What,” Potter asked, sounding disbelieving.  
“Order me to let you have the nice bedroom,” I told him. “Then I won’t feel like I’m doing something nice for you.”  
Potter grinned broadly and said, “Draco Malfoy, I order you to let me have the bigger bedroom.”  
I sighed and just nodded. But then something occurred to me. “Wait a second. Why are we having this conversation? This is the room of requirement right? So surely if I ask it, it will make this room bigger!”  
Potter stared at me. “Why didn’t I think of that?” he asked.  
“Because you’re a Gryffindor and therefore incapable of thinking for more than thirty seconds at a stretch without your brain overheating,” I retorted. Which of course (you guessed it) triggered yet another bloody panic attack.  
I knew straight away that I couldn’t control it. “Hit me,” I panted, as I tried desperately to control my breathing.  
“What?” Potter asked again. Merlin, he may be the stupidest person I’ve ever met.  
“Please Potter. Don’t make me beg. Hit me.”  
He slapped me, opened handed, across the face. When he saw the panic wasn’t abating he slapped me again, much harder. On the third stinging slap, I felt the panic start to abate.  
I bent over, leaning heavily on my knees while I got my breath back. “Thanks,” I said. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to get used to that.”  
I really didn’t feel like explaining so before he could say anything I said, “So then, am I right about the room?”  
“Um yeah, theoretically. Why don’t you try it? Malfoy, what was...”  
“Hush Potter, I’m concentrating.” I shut the door to the room then paced up and down in front of the doorway. After the third pass, I flung open the door and whooped in triumph. The room inside was now twice the size it had been. In the middle was a large bed, not a four poster like the Hogwarts one, but simply a large comfortable bed. Alright, a large comfortable bed with plenty of places to attach ropes. In fact, the bed came with a pair of sturdy black leather cuffs attached to the headboard.  
The decor was plain, but with hints of green and silver. It was softly lit by floating candles and wherein a muggle room the light fitting would have been there was a strong chain with a metal hook attached.  
“Malfoy,” Potter asked slowly, “what is that?”  
I grinned at him. He reared back as though I were some kind of demon. “It’s for inflicting punishments,” I informed him cheerfully. “You handcuff your victim’s wrists, then hook the connecting chain over the hook.” I went and stood under it with my arms stretched above my head. “Just the right height too.”  
Potter blushed bright red and immediately looked away. Interesting. Perhaps he wasn’t quite so adverse as I thought!  
He cleared his throat. “Um, shall I help you bring your bags up?”  
I smiled at his nervousness. Perhaps I was starting to break through some of his reservations. “That would be great. But I’m the slave here. I’m supposed to be serving you!”  
He blushed even more and shuffled his feet. I took pity on him. “Come on. You can help me unpack.”  
Needless to say, I had twice as many bags and boxes at him. As well as the obligatory big leather trunk I had two smaller suitcases, plus a large wooden crate stuffed with books and ornaments.  
Potter just had his case, and I suspected from the way he stared at my luggage that it was probably only half full. Together we lugged the cases up the stairs. We deposited his trunk in his room (which I noticed was now decorated in the Gryffindor colors) then he came across to my room to help me unpack.  
The unpacking and making ourselves at home went smoothly, except for one minor (but very embarrassing) moment, went Harry began to unpack a box which contained the contents of my bottom drawer. He opened the lid, gasped, and slammed it shut again.  
“Oh my god, Malfoy I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have opened it if I’d known. I… oh my God,” he finished lamely. He was clearly quite shaken, though I don’t see why. It wasn’t an especially large collection, or especially hardcore. Admittedly there was a set of beautiful oriental knives in there, but they were safely hidden away in a case which had a built-in ‘notice me not’ charm.  
“Honestly Potter,” I exclaimed. “You really are childish sometimes. They’re just sex toys for Circe’s sake. You surely knew such things existed!”  
“Yes but… well, I knew they existed but I’ve certainly never seen any before. I mean I don’t know anyone who owns any. Well, except you obviously.”  
“Obviously,” I said, doing my best to keep a straight face. I knew Gryffindors were boring, but I had no idea they were this innocent! I began to unpack the box, calmly explaining the use of each item, trying very hard not show my amusement as Potter’s eyes got wider and wider. Eventually (after I’d watched Potter go white at the sight of a particularly large dildo, and nearly pass out at the cane) I reached the last item in the box.  
“I have a present for you,” I told him and pulled out a bottle of firewhisky. “Well, it’s to share really. I thought we should have a mini housewarming party, just the two of us.” Not to mention that I thought it might lower some of his inhibitions.  
Potter looked immensely relieved. I really think he thought I might hand him some sort of sex toy!

****

That evening we discovered that we could choose what we ate, provided it was something the house elves knew how to cook. Eventually, we settled on curry and rice. Potter admitted that he’d never had a curry before. They never serve it at the school, but one of the house elves had previously been in service to a family in Bengal. She instructed the others. We had two curries, both chosen by me, but basically one for Harry and one for me. I love chilies and I like my food, especially curry, fiendishly hot. In deference to Potter’s status as a curry virgin however I also ordered a mild creamy curry and some raita, in case he decided to try mine.  
I must say whoever the elf was, she excelled herself and I sent my compliments down to the kitchen with the elf who cleared away our things when we had finished. It was all delicious. Potter had a teensy taste from my plate and gasped as though his head were about to explode. I instructed him to eat some raita and some plain rice to take away the fire and eventually he complied. After that, he stuck to his own dinner, however.  
Over dinner, we chatted a little and managed not to have any serious rows, mostly by avoiding any serious topics of conversation. Eventually, I broached the subject that had been on my mind all day.  
“Look Potter, I know you find the whole idea of owning a slave completely distasteful, though I will never understand why,” I began, “but the simple fact that you’re here indicated to me that you want to make this whole experience as painless as possible for me, am I right?”  
He looked shocked. “Of course, I do Malfoy. It’s my fault you’re in this situation in the first place, I’ll do what I can to make it as easy as possible for you.”  
“Right then. You haven’t given me a single order all day. Not a proper one. You’ve got to get into the habit of ordering me around a bit. I have a feeling that now the spell’s reached stage five, playing at owning me once or twice a day and trying to put it from your mind the rest of the time won't be enough. You’ve got to get used to the idea that you own me because if you don’t, it’s me that will suffer!”  
Potter frowned but nodded. “I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized. I mean I know why we’re here, but there’s been so much going on, it had sort of slipped my mind that I have a duty to you.” He suddenly looked worried. “The depression isn’t back is it?” he asked, sounding genuinely worried.  
I reassured him. “No, it’s more like a general feeling that something’s wrong. Like I’ve forgotten something really important. But it will get worse.”  
We broke into the firewhisky about 9 o’clock, and by 10 we had decided (somehow) to start a game of truth. Well not really a game, given that there were only two of us, more an excuse for me to probe Potter about his sexual history.  
“I’ll go first,” I decided and Potter didn’t object, so I opened the questioning by asking him who his first kiss had been with.  
“Cho Chang,” he said and shuddered. “That was a total disaster!”  
I raised an eyebrow but decided not to pry. Not yet anyway.  
“The first person you slept with,” he asked me, taking a sip from his glass.  
“Blaise Zabini,” I told him. Surely he could have guessed that one! But maybe Gryffindors don’t keep so up to date with the gossip as us snakes.  
“Are you a virgin?” I asked bluntly. I wanted to get that one out of the way straight away before I began any in-depth probing.  
“No,” he said, but he still blushed. Sweet Circe’s tits, I didn’t know it was possible to lose one's virginity and still blush at the word sex!  
Somehow he managed to control his embarrassment long enough for him to ask his next question.  
“Who do you wank to?” That surprised me. I wasn’t going to tell him that I couldn’t come without his say so. But I couldn’t lie to him either. Good thing I excel at is what my father calls ‘economical with the truth’.  
“I don’t wank,” I told him. He stared at me in amazement. Honestly Gryffindors! “I don’t mean I have some kind of hang up about masturbation,” I explained. “But thanks largely to Blaise’s enthusiastic cooperation (and quite a few others a well) I haven’t needed too since I was about 15.”  
“Why did you break up with the Weasleyette?” I asked.  
“No comment,” he said, his face steely.  
“Potter,” I said, leaning forward in my seat, closer to him, “you have to tell the truth!”  
“Draco,” he said, leaning forward as well do his face was only inches from mine, and dropping his voice to a low growl which I found mortifyingly sexy, “you’re forgetting something. I’m not the slave here. I own you, not the other way around. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to.”  
“Merlin Potter, you only had to say no,” I eventually managed. I’d nearly had another panic attack when he said that, brought on not by the spell, just the sheer force of unsatisfied lust. I gulped and fanned myself, trying to cool down.


	6. Hopeless

Draco tossed and turned in his sleep, his cock hard and leaking.

  
_Draco was tied, spread eagle to the bed writhing in desperation as his Master made his way down his body sucking hickeys into Draco’s pale skin as he went. Harry smirked up at his little slave as his mouth approached Draco’s cock. He exhaled lightly over Draco’s cock, reveling in the squirming slave it created. He smirked predatorily before hiking Draco’s hips up, chuckling at Draco’s indignant squeal at the sudden movement._  
 _“Please Master,” he groaned, thrusting his hips uselessly into the air._  
 _“Hush, I’m in charge here, we go at my pace. Not yours.” Harry said in a deep growl, as he plunged two fingers into Draco’s already prepped hole, making his adorable little slave scream and moan in desperation._  
 _“Please.” Draco moaned again. Screaming as Harry finally entered him._

  
Draco woke up, sweat-soaked and frustrated, he went to reach down and grasp his cock but jumped when he heard a noise from his doorway, his Master was stood there, leaning casually against the frame.  
“Hermione told me that this screw up wouldn’t affect me all that much. You know what? That was absolute bullshit. I’m horny all the damn time, and all that shit you talk about: the knives and the like. I want nothing more than to do that to you. And then, whilst I’m trying to sleep and ignore what I want to do to you and what do I hear. You; moaning my name like you’re in a fucking porno.” Harry growled. “I’m not going to do anything though Malfoy. You know why, because you can’t consent under this spell. I’ll order you around and keep you alive. But stop trying to get me to have sex with you.” He snapped leaving the room.  
Draco groaned and sunk into his bed. Tears covering his cheeks. He was unwanted. It shouldn’t have surprised him, but his hope had been raised during the first part of his Master Potter’s monologue. Draco let out a small gasp as a panic attack overtook him, he let it take him back to unconsciousness.

###

Draco woke groggily, flinching as the bright lights of the hospital wing assaulted his eyes. He tried to pull himself into a seating position but found he was unable to move.  
“Young Mr Potter forbade you from moving right after he bought you in here Mr Malfoy.” Madame Pomfrey said as she began to bustle around his bed.  
“Why am I here? I’m supposed to be in the room of requirement. The daughter in law curse.” Draco said weakly.  
“I’m well aware of the curse Mr Malfoy. I was here when we discovered that that was what was cast upon you.” Madame Pomfrey said gently. “Now, care to explain what caused you to a panic attack so bad that you ended up here because Mr Potter ‘couldn’t slap you out of it’?” She asked firmly.  
“I realized he doesn’t want me. I don’t know why that hurts me, but it does, and it makes the spell attack me.” Draco replied sadly. “Where is he?”  
“He’s with the Headmaster currently. He’ll be back soon. In the meantime, he wrote down some orders for you to tide you over until he got back.” Pomfrey said, passing Draco a piece of paper and walking away.

  
**Malfoy,**  
 **If you are ready this, you may sit up and may only leave the bed to use the loo.**

**Eat whatever the house elf brings for you and take whatever potions the Madame wants you too.**

**Get yourself better.**   
**HP**

  
Draco felt a tear run down his cheek at how blunt and un-personal the letter was. Change the names and it could go to anyone.  
The door to the hospital wing flew open and revealed an arguing Blaise and Granger. He smiled and wiped the tear from his face. Blaise was the first to speak to me.  
“What kinky shit have you been up to Dray?” Blaise asked, dropping into the chair next to his head, causing Granger to blush red at his crudeness and casual tone.  
“None. He won’t touch me because I can’t consent properly.” Draco said, pouting.  
“Well that certainly sounds like Harry.” Granger said from where she was perched on the opposite side of the bed to Blaise. “He’d never want anyone to feel used or abused.” She said, running a hand through Draco’s hair.  
“But I do feel used. He walked into my room last night told me he wanted me and then told me to stop being myself, to stop trying to get into bed with him.” Draco said crying gently now. Hermione sighed, moved up the bed and pulled him into a tight embrace.  
“It’ll be over soon Draco. Only a week or so more.”

###

Harry paced around in front of the Gargoyle statue, waiting for Dumbledore to let him enter the office so as to arrange his transfer after this curse catastrophe was cleared up so that he would be unable to hurt anyone else. Harry intended to transfer out of Hogwarts and become a tutored student before retreating into a life wherein he socialized with nobody to protect them from his bad luck.  
The gargoyle finally swung to the side and Harry began his ascent to the office.  
“Professor,” he said politely, “I reckon you know why I am here.” Harry said taking a seat.  
“Yes, my boy, and you know that I will not allow you to leave Hogwarts because of a mistake as inconsequential as this. Once this week has passed you and Mister Malfoy will be able to return to normal.” Dumbledore said gently, “I understand you are afraid of hurting Mister Malfoy. But you won’t my boy. Now, go keep an eye on the lad.” Dumbledore said, turning to ascend to his upper study.  
“But Professor, everyone around me gets hurt.” Harry said desperately.  
“Through no fault of your own.” Dumbledore said, waving his wand and opening the door.

###

A smile graced Draco’s face when the hospital doors opened to reveal Harry.  
“You were gone for so long Master.” He said demurely.  
“Did you do as you were told whilst I was gone?” Harry asked, fighting to keep his smile hidden, he couldn’t do anything to or with Draco. It was wrong.  
“I was good Master.” Draco said, his eagerness to please practically vibrating through him.  
“Okay… umm well, what would you like as a reward?” Harry said, his confidence in being able to resist Draco faltering quickly.  
“Will you kiss me please Master?” Draco asked, twisting half onto his side and leaning up towards Harry.  
“One kiss, that’s all your getting.” Harry said firmly. Trying to ignore how pleased Draco looked even at the prospect of that. He leant down towards to Draco and gently pressed his lips to Draco’s. He let out a small moan as he quickly lost himself in the softness of Draco’s lips. Harry stopped the kiss suddenly and fled the room, sinking to the floor outside the hospital wing head in hands. “What am I doing?” He asked looking to the ceiling.  
Meanwhile, Draco had settled back into his bed smiling from the kiss, until he realized Harry had not, and likely would not be returning anytime soon. At this point, he curled himself into a tiny ball, and again began to cry, internally berating himself for not being a good enough slave to please Harry enough to make him stay.


End file.
